


Anathema

by Walker_August



Category: Mission: Impossible, Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Betrayal, Blood and Injury, F/M, Fear, Gen, Injury, No Fluff, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reader-Insert, Spoilers, Trauma, Unrequited Hate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-10-11 15:25:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17449565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walker_August/pseuds/Walker_August
Summary: August Walker x reader, with the prompt:“Can I request a fic where the female reader goes after Walker in the helicopter, instead of Ethan, and she gets the detonator, but is severely wounded in the process, and Walker calms her down and tends to her wound?“





	1. Chapter 1

August looks just as shocked as you feel, when you grab the remote detonator from him. No one would look at you, half his size, and think you were a match for him. And even knowing you the way he does, August underestimates your fast reflexes and agility. So you have the detonator.

Without thinking things through, August lunges at you. You didn’t see the knife in his hand but you certainly feel it pierce through your skin and you feel the warmth of blood pooling on your shirt. Somehow the pain doesn’t register, the adrenaline pumping through your veins is at least enough to edge out of his grasp and remove the fail safe switch before he can knock you to the ground himself. Before he can kill you, because that’s all you see in his eyes right now – desperation to finish the job. The last job.

“Team…If you can hear me” you wheeze “Whoever can hear me…it’s done. Cut the wires” your voice struggles. You’re weak from the exertion, now you’re finally starting to feel the extensive injuries sustained in the helicopter crash and the fight for the detonator.

August stands there shocked for a moment too long as you throw the remote to the ground and pocket the pin. You did it, you won. He lost, and he hurt you in the process without a second thought. He could’ve killed you, he probably would have if it meant seeing his plans succeed. Seemingly the huge, angry red burn covering half of his face has gone past the point of pain. Instead he watches, frozen in time, as you try to breathe and steady yourself.

“It’s done, Walker. Give up. Turn yourself in, or jump off that cliff and die. I don’t care” you tell him before you give in to the overwhelming, searing pain and fall to the ground, legs unable to support you any longer. He’s by your side in an instant, trying to help you, but the thought of him touching you makes you feel sick. “Fuck you” you spit the words at him, “I trusted you, with so much. I helped you” you hiss, voice shaking with anger now that you’re finally confronting him.

You had been blind and stupid, when Ethan had suggested that August was Lark and had set up a trap for him. You had disputed it, asked for proof as if it wasn’t right in front of you. In the short time you had worked with him there had been an undeniable connection between the two of you. You had confessed it one night and he had told you he felt the same. You had made plans together, laughed about a reality where you could go out together and be normal together. When it had become to obvious too deny, that he was behind all of it and had used CIA and IMF resources to get what he wanted, you had felt humiliation and anger beyond anything you’d ever felt before. Now you’re certain it was all a manipulation, that it was nothing. You are nothing to him.

Convincing Ethan to let you go after him had been difficult. You’d had to admit everything to Ethan, about the stolen moments with August and how you knew him, at least you thought you did, better than anyone on the team. You said could convince him to give up the detonator, of course it was a lie but you needed to go after August for your own redemption. The beauty of it was that August had never expected it to be you, which worked in your favour - incapacitating him while he was caught off guard. For a moment you were sure you would kill him because seeing him dead would be the only thing to placate your anger, and you hated yourself for not being able to do it.

Now your breath is short, the multitude of injuries taking their toll; blood, bruises, fractures, a couple broken ribs, possibly a punctured lung. You don’t want to die, not here and not in his arms, unable to move away from him. He does what he can, to make it hurt less, to sooth you in some way even though he knows he can’t really do anything to save you. Even after all of it, August feels something for you, although he knows from the look of hate you give him that nothing could ever be between you two.

“Why are you here! It wasn’t supposed to be you” he mutters, applying pressure to the knife wound as your blood covers his hands.

“So I should have stayed behind and…” a gasp of pain breaks your words as he presses down “and what? Died in the explosion”

“I tried to send you away, you didn’t listen. There wasn’t another way” he mumbles back, hands starting to shake. It’s true, he had given you an out before any of this, his ties with Director Sloane meant he could offer you a safe house, a new name, a promise – a lie – that he’d come to you after. But how could you take that, knowing the world could be shaken by a nuclear attack at any moment? You’d wondered then why he would think you’d be able to walk away.

“I defended you to my team! I put my integrity on the line for you” you feel a tear run down your face, then another, but you don’t know if they’re from anger or pain or the wreck of emotions you suddenly feel. He wipes them away and you try to move away from him again.

“I can’t apologise. I can’t. I did what needed to be done, what no one else would do. Why can’t you see that?” he’s impassioned but you can tell he’s struggling now too, you have no idea how he’s still managing to stay upright. You’re going to black out soon, you can feel it and it’s all too familiar. The world fading at the edges. Pain and anger and hate, burning hate, is all you know now. All you feel. You’ll never be the same after this.

You use every bit of effort to move out of his grasp and sit upright, propped against a rock. “If I live, I’m going to make sure you end up locked up for the rest of your life, Walker. I hate you for this, for playing with my feelings - with my life – the way you did. Like it means nothing to you. I gave you so much of myself and you lied to me” you hope your words hurt him like they hurt you to say.

You’re fading now, eyes closing, no more strength in you.

“That wasn’t a lie. That was me, not Lark. I’ll turn myself in, just- just don’t die.” He’s desperate, scared, for you or for him you can’t tell any more. You don’t care any more.

“For that…caring about me and still…” you can hear the helicopters now, the rescue team on their way to you “…still going through with this…I hope you rot, August. In hell or jail, I don’t care, you’re dead to me”.


	2. Chapter 2

The trouble with being stuck in a hospital bed for several weeks—recovering from the injuries which almost killed you on that mountaintop—is having nothing to do but think. Thinking isn’t good, when every time you close your eyes you see his face. When every waking thought is consumed with the fact that he betrayed you and wounded you with no remorse. When every time you try to sleep the dream is always of him, face scarred and a dead expression in his eyes, with his hands around your throat slowly choking the life out of you.

But that isn’t how it went. Walker had never done that – he had hurt you, beaten and bruised you, broken your bones and almost killed you, but it was a different villain in your long and tiring story who had very nearly succeeded in strangling you to death. Years ago, when you were new to the field and had no real sense of self preservation, because you never thought you’d fail. You were consumed with fear for months afterwards, reliving the feeling of having your windpipe slowly crushed as strong hands tightened around your throat. The dreams ebbed over the months as you got back to work and made sure the man was captured and incarcerated, but the dread never quite went away.

Yet now the nightmares have returned but the face of your assailant has changed. The face of the man you briefly considered your future, now your truest enemy. The images in your head terrify you more than you care to admit, so you stay awake, not wanting the nightmare to plague you the way you know it will if you give in to it – not wanting to be incapacitated by the gripping fear all over again. Your doctors berate you, tell you by not sleeping you’re hindering your own recovery but they can’t give you anything to stop the visions so you stay awake.

You had told Walker about the murder attempt, when the two of you shared a stolen moment together in the dead of night as the rest of your team slept. You had told him about your past and your fears and your desires - you had told him everything, truly believing he cared about you. Believing for the first time in your life that there was someone in this world meant for you. You’d never been more wrong. Walker had told you secrets too, things about his life and how he wanted to live it – he wanted to escape the world of assassins and spies and live a quiet life with someone he loved. He had told you, with a shy smile, that he wondered if it could be you because nothing had ever felt so real to him.

And then he had offered you an out; a safe house and the promise that the CIA or IMF or any other agency would never ask you to risk your life for them again. He said he would join you, when the time came, when he had done what needed to be done. What needed to be done – the words make you shudder now but then you had been shocked that anyone would want to give you that.

“We could be free” he had told you, his voice so kind and his eyes full of hope “And we could be together, take a chance on each other. I’ve never felt like this about anyone else” he had taken your hand then. You had kissed, hidden in darkness together in a corner of Paris that seemed to only exist for the two of you.

And every moment, every kiss and every word was a lie.

—–

Benji is the first to visit you, beating Ethan by just a few hours. He’s wide eyed when he sees you, face always betraying his emotions.

“I’m so glad you’re alive. What you did was incredible, you saved the world” he tells you, awed.

“It’s my fault that Walker got that close to succeeding, I had to do something” you respond, even as Benji shakes his head and places a soothing hand on your shoulder. The team knows, of course they do. It would have been in the debriefing. Ethan couldn’t have kept the situation a secret as much as he might have wanted to.

You don’t want their sympathy for your stupid mistake, as much as they might want to give it, so you’ll remain emotionless; stony and guarded until the very end now. And if there’s anything you’re good at, it’s showing no vulnerability. You’d been trained that way, and you’d been brought up that way. Emotion is weakness, that was your mantra even before you became a CIA agent at 20. And you had done so well being unfeeling, until he had got in your head and made you think you could be something else. You can feel the anger at that consuming you from within, but you refuse to let it boil to the surface – not in front of your team, not in front of Sloane, not in front of anyone. 

Walker would be the only one to feel your wrath, if you ever met him again.

“I’d better go, you look tired” Benji’s kind voice breaks you from your thoughts as he moves towards the door looking at you with concern “If you need anything at all…” he doesn’t finish, just nods and gives you one last look before walking out of your room.

Ethan comes to you next and you find you’re glad to see him. Unlike some he’s never been scared of you, and he’s always respected you. He doesn’t hesitate to take your hand in his when he sits down next to your bed.

“I’m so sorry” he tells you and you see the regret in his expression.

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry about”

“I shouldn’t have let you go. I should be the one in pain right now”

“Ethan, I had the advantage so I finished the job. It’s done. And I’m fine, I’ll heal” you tell him, lines you’ve rehearsed especially for his arrival.

“I know your pain is more than your wounds. And now I have to make it worse…” he sighs. All Ethan ever wants is for his team to be safe, to be protected. The job is life or death, you all know that, but Ethan feels a responsibility to you all nonetheless. “The doctors say you’ll be out next week, and Director Sloane has a job for you. She wants you back in the field”

“What’s the job?” your voice barely carries. How can you carry out a mission if you can barely close your eyes for fear of a vision in your head?

“I-I’m so sorry. It’s Walker, the CIA needs information…they need everything he knows but he won’t talk. The way he’s trained, he’ll never give away his secrets but…” he stops, bows his head so as not to look you in the eye.

“Ethan, it’s fine, I know. Just say it” you can’t stand the silence suddenly. The tension hanging in the air, Ethan hates this maybe more than you do.

“He’ll talk to you. He says you’re the only one he’ll tell anything to. Sloane’s already ordered to bring him in from Gitmo as soon as you’re ready”

You let out a shaky breath, betraying your stoic demeanour. Inside you feel frozen, heartbeat almost slowing in terror or pain or anticipation, you don’t know. You had expected this but it still feels like a punch in the gut.

“You can say no” Ethan’s voice is soft and warm and it breaks through the deafening silence like sunshine after the storm. Ethan always has that effect for you, the way he cares. You’ll never say it, you don’t need too, but you’re thankful for him.

Even so, he knows as well as you that you won’t turn down the mission. Because you can’t. Whether you need retribution or just acceptance isn’t clear yet, but seeing him again might at least quiet the noise in your mind.

“I’ll do it” is all you say.

After all, don’t they always say you should face your fears?


	3. Chapter 3

He’s staring at you. Silently watching you. And you’re returning his gaze, unblinkingly determined not to break it as much as you might want to. And you do want to, you’ve never felt so uncomfortable, so unsure of your emotions. Because your head is still so filled with hate but your heart, oh your traitor heart, it still beats a little louder when his blue eyes meet yours for the first time in months and the memories you thought you’d erased unexpectedly hit you full force. You hate yourself for that, for letting any of those feelings remain even unknowingly. You feel your hands shake, your body tense and guarded. You have to remember this isn’t the same man you had thought you were connecting with, this is a monster who deserves nothing but your contempt and distrust. So how can you still feel aflutter at the memory of his kiss?

He looks awful, the too bright fluorescent lights highlighting every bruise and scrape, attention drawn to the horrific burn that covers one side of his face. You can’t imagine the pain he must’ve been in, and for a split second you feel the sudden ache of guilt. Just a second, before you react and push it deep in to your subconscious. He doesn’t deserve that, he doesn’t deserve any of your remorse. Luther-–who had insisted on being there for you—had told you the same thing, before you had left to make your way to the classified CIA black site where your meeting with Walker was being held. His armed guard at the doorway, your gun holstered underneath your jacket and a knife in your boot – these were supposed to make you feel safe, less vulnerable but every minute of silence makes you feel more uneasy. You can’t stand it any longer.

“So? I’m here, like you wanted. What have you got to say?” your voice is sharp, loud in the small room and you’re glad when it comes out without a hint of fear.

He doesn’t respond, closes his eyes for a moment but says nothing. He looks exhausted, ready to pass out, and you know they’ve been keeping him awake. You wonder what else, what wounds you aren’t seeing. They must’ve tried a lot to make him talk, but he’s been trained to keep secrets. It doesn’t surprise you that he can withstand torture. You envy him for that, at least.

“You’re going to tell me about Lane, about the Apostles. That was the deal? Then talk” you continue, hands grasped tight together so their shaking doesn’t betray the confidence in your voice.

“I will” he replies simply, voice gravelly. “But I wanted to talk about us first…and what happened” he adds and you balk, cutting him off straight away.

“Walker, this isn’t the time” you shoot back, anger bubbling up inside you like molten lava.

“When will it be?”

“Are you kidding me? Never, Walker. Fuck, I thought I made that clear last time I saw you” you raise your voice now, balling up your fists beneath the table to try and keep your hate from spilling over and causing your meltdown. Your body aches and you want to scream, all those weeks of being stoic and cool in the face of your immeasurable pain and you lose it after a few minutes with him? No. You can’t let him see it.

“You hate me. I know. But you can’t tell me your feelings aren’t still there. I know you-“

“You do not know me. Don’t sit there and assume you understand anything about me, because you don’t. I don’t feel anything for you. You’re a terrorist. You’re…insane” each word is pointed, snapped. He listens to you with an infuriating calmness, watching you with curiosity, and you’re tempted to draw your gun and point it at the place his heart should be.

“Then why are you so angry?”

“What?”

“You’re shaking, you dug your nails into your palms so hard I can still see the marks, you’re trying to hold back but it’s not going to work. I know. You must care, in some way, to be so affected by being this close to me again. Afraid too, it’s obvious” He’s so sure of himself, he’s almost smirking at you.

“I almost died because of you. I thought I was dying when they took me in to the hospital. Jesus, if I hadn’t been able to stop you millions more would have died, and you have no remorse for that at all. When I look at you, when I think about you, I remember that. Nothing else.”

“I wish you could understand my motives, see why there was no other choice. I am sorry you got hurt though, truly.” He turns his gaze from you, regretful.

“There is always another choice” You say, then, so quiet he barely hears “I wish you had been the person I thought you were”.

You do. The IMF were like family to you, but you were still lonely every single day. August…he could have been an escape from that, if only he had been a half decent human being. August. You’d stopped calling him by his first name when the truth had been revealed and your trust broken, but you remember breathing it out while secure in his embrace, feeling his name flow from you so sweet and bewitching when he had made you promises and held you tight. As much as you want t deny it, fight it – and you will, always – some small irresponsible part of you still does want that. Wants to keep those memories and let him make you feel seen again.

It’s manageable, but knowing you have that inside of you still is a dangerous realisation.

You shake yourself from it, remind yourself why you’re here.

“That’s enough, now tell me what-” you pause, hearing a noise outside of the room. Sounds like someone heavy hitting the floor and a gunshot through a suppressor. Shit, he’s been stalling.

You reach for your gun immediately, making to aim at Walker, but those bright white lights go dark in an instant and everything is deathly silent for a moment.

“Who is this? How did they find you?” you hiss, moving as silently as you can.

“Apostles. They’ve been tracking you for weeks. I am sorry, you know, I only wanted to be able to tell you that. See if you could forgive me” he replies simply from somewhere to your right.

“You never planned on giving us information, did you?” you realise aloud, just as the door cracks open letting in a slither of light.

You shoot as the first man enters the room, hitting him square in the chest even in the limited light. He slumps backwards and leaves a bloody stain on the door. Then, as you make to move forward and take out the others, you feel a hand cold around your wrist pulling you back. You turn to him and see his eyes wild in the dim illumination. His hands were cuffed, how did he get free? Why didn’t you hear him approach you? He’s better than you give him credit for.

“Forgive me” he pleads, quiet in your ear, and then you feel a sharp jab in your neck. A needle. Something injected that makes you fall back, legs weak. 

In your mind, you remember when he almost had you beat on that mountaintop, the blood pumping in your ears as you desperately scrambled to stay upright and now it’s happening all over again. You can barely breathe. You let out a small, scared whimper as for one small moment you think he’s moving his hands towards your neck, to choke the life out of you, but instead he holds you up. 

You see three more people enter the room, surrounding you, and the dead bodies of the guards outside, before you give in and everything fades to black.


End file.
